Chapter 95
The air in the “crate” had grown thick and stagnant, a suffocating mixture of damp concrete and the rising stench of Marina’s confinement. For five days and four nights, the silence was broken only by the sound of her ragged breathing and the distant, rhythmic drip of groundwater.
Stripped of both her dignity and her clothes, Marina had come to understand every inch of the tiny space that held her. The cell wasn’t meant for comfort—she couldn’t stand up straight, and any attempt to stretch caused her skin to brush against the cold walls. Her hands stayed bound, the silver chains burning her wrists raw, a constant reminder of how little control she had left.
When exhaustion finally dragged her down onto the rough wooden plank that passed for a bed, the wood punished her for it
